Cut Strings and Cracked Ice
by WilderCapall
Summary: Akira is crippled by pain. Hotaru's body is starting to fail. But neither is willing to give up fighting—even if they have to hold each other up. HotaruxAkira
1. Chapter 1

Random thing I realized recently. The time frames in SDK are all screwy…not just historically; I'm talking the time frames within the story itself. Kyo is about twenty-eight, which we know vaguely because I'm going to guess he was five or six when he first fought Nobunaga, who said that was twenty-two years before the events of the story. And Kyo is supposedly the _youngest_ Mibu (last child). So that would mean that Shinrei, Hotaru, and even the quintuplets in Yuan's family would all have to be older than Kyo. My brain hurts. I can imagine Shinrei being twenty-eight, but he'd have to be older than that because he's older than Hotaru, who acts like he's about twelve and looks about twenty, _maybe_. Also, going by all these interlocking and incredibly weird timelines, Kyo would have had to have been like seventeen when he first met up with the Shiseiten. He found Akira when the kid was maybe eight (guessing), then travelled with him until he was around fourteen, meaning that Kyo should have been eighteen when he found Akira…and even younger than that when he met Bontenmaru! Which is either really cool or really confusing. Teen Kyo…hmm. I fear that a little bit. I did, however, finally figure out the order he met the Four in. I think. Wow, long rant that accomplishes nothing…

**Summary:** Akira is crippled by pain. Hotaru's body is starting to fail. But neither is willing to give up fighting—even if they have to hold each other up. HotaruxAkira

**Warning:** Fairly non-canon yaoi that I nonetheless love. I just think they work together. Also, Fire and Ice is one of my favorite poems, so I really can't resist.

**Cut Strings and Cracked Ice**

Hotaru looked at the blood in his palm in a mixture of fear and shattered denial.

It had been three years since the Crimson Tower fell. _Three years_ of travelling and waiting for Kyo to come back before finally returning to Mibu lands for a break. Just long enough to start believing that maybe he had beaten the odds, that he would endure, perhaps for the uncounted ages that Fubuki and Hishigi had.

He had been wrong.

_I can't let anyone know. I am strong. I can't let them see me this weak._

Hotaru closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. He honestly couldn't remember most of what the Death Disease entailed. But coughing blood was the most characteristic symptom. Hotaru had ignored the precursors that had reared their heads during his time in Egypt—the dizziness, the shortness of breath—but this, he could not sweep aside.

He remembered how the plague began—and how it ended. Visions of Hishigi dying in Fubuki's arms flashed behind Hotaru's golden eyes, and he began to tremble. He was afraid. He didn't want to die like that.

"'Sup, Keikoku?"

Hotaru turned quickly, startled.

"Maa, Yun-Yun," he said, hiding his bloodied hand in his pocket. "My name is _Hotaru_."

Yuan put a hand to his face in exasperation after a swift if not overly hard punch to Hotaru's head.

"I'm not a damn panda, kid! I'll make a deal with you. The day you call me '_Yuan-shishou_' on the first try is the day I'll call you a firefly, _Keikoku_. Dinner's ready; get your skinny ass inside. Anna's convinced you're starvin' to death and determined to fix it. Apparently she doesn't approve of whatever 'pirate food' you ate for the past year."

"Not hungry."

"Anna's going to be pissed if you skip out after not even a letter for three years," Yuan warned. "And Anthony's all ready to race you. C'mon, kid."

Hotaru considered the advisability of incurring Anna's wrath against his own nonexistent appetite and came up with the only reasonable solution.

"…You know I hate that stupid chick bowl, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's waitin' for ya."

The younger fire-caster almost smiled. Familiarity.

"I said, _DINNER'S READY!_" came the ever-present yell of the eldest sister.

"Now shift it," said Yuan, "before that little birdie comes out to meet you."

Hotaru stood up a little too quickly and had to steady himself on the wall; he passed it off as sleepiness and ignored Yuan's curiosity. After waiting a moment for the black spots to clear out of his vision, he followed his master inside.

Anthony and Hotaru locked eyes the moment the younger man entered the room; lightning practically sparked between the two over a gigantic platter of food, and Anna covered her face and winced as rice and other various food bits sprayed around the room until the last two morsels vanished at exactly the same instant.

"Damn!" Anthony laughed. "I thought I was winning that time!"

"You know you can't," Hotaru taunted playfully.

"_CLEAN THIS UP!_" Anna screamed, sending a bowl flying spot-on into each of their heads and watching with satisfaction as both keeled over.

"…Ow," said Hotaru belatedly, picking up the faded chick bowl that he suspected might have dented his skull.

"Holy hell, sis, you been practicing since Keikoku left…?" Anthony groaned. Anna raised her delicate eyebrows at him, and he sighed and asked resignedly, "Where's the mop…?"

Behind him, Hotaru coughed again, lying quickly to fool Yuan, who, for some reason, believed him when he said he had bitten his tongue.

---

Hotaru wandered outside, little or no destination in mind; his mind floated like a cloud, hiding from a deadly truth.

"Hotaru?"

The voice was familiar; one of the very few he never forgot, no matter how long he went without hearing it.

"Akira…how are you? I haven't seen you in…" Hotaru trailed off.

"Almost three years, Hotaru. And I am hardly better," Akira replied, his voice tired and pained.

The two men looked at one another, and Hotaru was rather unpleasantly surprised to see that Akira was at least as tall as he was—and Hotaru was wearing his geta, too!

_Dammit. Stupid father, letting me starve as a kid._

Hotaru conveniently forgot that Akira had starved until the age of eight (and hadn't exactly feasted during the Shiseiten years), and might simply be taller than him.

"And you, Hotaru? You seem a bit…off."

The fire-caster's fists clenched around the fading bloodstain in his right palm.

"I'm fine. Might be coming down with something."

"You're a bad liar," Akira said softly. "You know you can't lie to me. You wouldn't fool Bon with that one."

"Shut up," Hotaru snapped. "What do you know?" His hands were trembling—like leaves in the wind.

Akira said nothing, but he had already begun to understand, and he was both sorry and afraid for his old friend.

It was suddenly very obvious to him how much he had always relied on Hotaru. For warmth over seven years ago when the Shiseiten had camped in the cold; for backup and partnership in their games against Bontenmaru; for the other half of their devastating fire and ice combination that the world might never see again.

Hotaru swallowed thickly and attempted to speak.

"Akira…"

"It's fine, Hotaru," Akira said gently. "I don't—"

"Of anyone I know, I should expect that you of all people would understand. I'm so scared, Akira…scared of falling apart. I watched Hishigi die…I won't go like that. I'd rather—"

"Hotaru! Don't even talk like that! Go to Akari, ask her what to do…don't just give up and die."

"She's no closer to a cure than she was years ago. I think you'll remember how many leads she had last time we met. I'm just glad…that no one in my family is sick yet. Not Yun-Yun, or Anna…or Shinrei. They can't know about me. There's nothing they can do, and the last thing I want from them is _pity_. Please, Akira…don't tell them."

Akira merely stood there, facing his old companion with sadness etched into every line of his expression. Hotaru noted how the younger man had changed with the years; physically, he was nearly Hotaru's age now, and he no longer resembled a child. His pale face was more angular, and his voice a bit deeper. But Hotaru knew what lay behind Akira's reserve: sadness, isolation; and the terrible _pain_ of the internal injuries that caused him so much torture with every movement—and which would probably never heal enough for the young man to fight again—at the very least, not in the effortlessly beautiful way he once had.

"I…I'm sorry." Hotaru's face was troubled.

"Don't be," the human replied. "I understand completely."

Hotaru squeezed his eyes shut, one hand to his face. _He_ didn't understand—didn't get how or why Akira was so understanding of Hotaru's treatment of him, why he bothered to yell at him to go to Akari…even though it would be useless. And he didn't know why he reached for Akira as he had not one person in his life and held him close.

"Thank you," the fire-caster whispered, feeling Akira's hair tickle his check, and his skin so cool against Hotaru's unnatural warmth. Through Akira's shirt, Hotaru felt the hundreds of scars on the ice-wielder's back, including countless places where the toned muscle had ripped apart and knotted painfully back together. Akira's breath caught in his throat and he twitched as the light pressure of Hotaru's embrace touched those old wounds.

The human, his body silently screaming in pain, pulled away and seated himself on the stone wall on which he had found Hotaru. It was still excruciating simply to walk on shattered legs never healed right, and to have his torn, knotted wounds even brushed by gentle hands was agony.

"Akira…"

"Three years," Akira whispered. "It's been _three years_, and I can barely run more than a few steps, let alone fight. You can't possibly…but no, maybe you _can_ imagine…

"It _hurts_, Hotaru…every move I make, everything I do is a trigger for pain I couldn't have believed existed before I fought Tokito. I tore myself apart to defeat her…yes, it was worth the pain, but…I don't know who I am anymore. I am neither Akira of the Shiseiten nor the two-headed dragon. I am simply human…and broken beyond repair." Akira hung his head, hands clenched tightly in front of him, shaking. The memory of Tokito tagging after him through the desert, demanding a rematch he could not give for reasons he lied to her about, nearly made him want to scream.

It was Hotaru's turn to look at his comrade with sadness in his eyes. Akira was so strong—had _always_ been strong—and it was painful to see the ice warrior brought so low.

He sat beside Akira, though he did not touch him, unsure of just how much of Akira's body was wrecked by pain. He brushed a piece of hair out of the younger man's face and tucked it behind his ear.

"And what was the point of that? My eyes are as useless as they have been for seven years. A lock of hair in front of them will hardly make them any worse."

"I know that," Hotaru replied defensively. "But…I couldn't see your face."

Akira's head jerked up, a question on his lips. Hotaru smoothed an errant strand of hair and felt its softness against his scarred hands.

"Hotaru…"

The moment was short—beautifully, painfully short. One second, perhaps two or three, of Hotaru's lips burning hot against Akira's cool ones, his long fingers tangled in Akira's hair, his braid tickling Akira's shoulder, though he was careful not to put stress on the younger man's deeply scarred body. But as quickly as it had begun, their alien contact broke, and Hotaru bit his own lip, looking bewildered by his own behavior.

Akira faced the fire-caster, trying to remember exactly what he looked like. He recalled a man who had known starvation just as Akira himself had; slim but strong like the double-bladed sword he wielded with frightening precision. He remembered long, braided golden hair, red armor and a smile he always strove to hide. He remembered a deadpan face and the kind of dry wit (or was it simply stupidity?) that made the youngest Shiseiten want to knock his lights out. And Akira remembered Hotaru's _eyes_.

Golden, smoldering like the molten metal itself, sharp as an eagle's, burning bright like a forge as his inferno devoured the lives of multitudes; Hotaru's eyes defined Akira's old life nearly as much as Kyo's crimson ones.

Those eyes were one of the few reasons Akira wished he had not blinded his own.

"Akira? I'm sorry, I don't know why—"

Akira held up a hand to silence the flame-caster; still, he didn't speak, unsure of how he felt about this strange encounter. But he did not want Hotaru to apologize.

Hotaru did not respond when Akira touched his shoulder; he seemed afraid to.

"I don't want to hurt you," the flame-wielder said quietly. "If we do...anything...it'll hurt you, even though I don't want it to. That's why I'm sorry. Akira, please. At least ask Akari for something to take away the pain…it's killing you."

"Then tell her about you. I'm sure she can do _something_…"

Hotaru tensed and hesitated. He didn't want Akari to know. He didn't want _Kyo_ to know. Honestly, he didn't even want Akira to know, but there was nothing he could do about that now. But…if there was even a chance…and if going to Akari also meant lessening the crippling pain that plagued Akira…

"Where is she?"

**End Chapter**

Hmm. I'm not sure what that was. Except depressing. Review please; that is, assuming the SDK fanbase hasn't all died.


	2. Chapter 2

Well, I made a second chapter…I get very bored in school sometimes. Also my HotaruxAkira fix is not satisfied by the very few fics concerning them.

Another thing; I realized after posting chapter one that part of the end was quite out of character, so I have rewritten it and reposted the first chapter. Sorry.

**Chapter 2**

"Akira?" Akari asked, bemused wondering in her voice. "And Hotaru, too? What a surprise!"

Truly, the pink-haired shaman was not surprised to see Akira. She had noticed his limp getting more pronounced by the day, and knew only too well that his will was the only reason he could still stand. It was a veritable miracle that he could walk on his own.

Hotaru was a different story. The flame-caster had visited the hospital only once, and then he had been unconscious, carried in by Yuan's family after being badly snake-bitten. Even so, Akari had had to work fast to get the antivenom into his system; the moment he became aware of his surroundings again, Hotaru was determined to escape. Akari was honestly shocked to see him walk in voluntarily and under his own power.

"Hi, Akari," said the blond, waving.

"Hotaru," Akira said, shooting a meaningful look at his friend.

Hotaru made a noise somewhere between a growl and a whine.

"What can I do for you, boys?" Akari asked sweetly.

"We need to talk to you…well, _I_ do," Hotaru muttered under his breath. "Can we go somewhere else?"

Akari raised a sculpted eyebrow, but directed both into a room and shut the door.

"So what's up, Hotaru? I never thought I'd see _you_ in here."

Hotaru bit his lip and picked at the edge of a hospital bed, where some plastic was wearing away.

"I…Akari, I need to ask you not to tell anyone about this. I didn't even want to tell you…but I don't really have a choice."

Akari's brow furrowed, but she nodded in agreement.

"I get the feeling this isn't the kind of secret I normally hear."

"It isn't…Akari, I…" Hotaru hesitated before pressing onward. "I'm fairly certain I have…developed the Death Disease."

The shaman's eyes widened. She had been treating it in many of the Mibu people, of course, but never in a friend. Somehow, she had been as much in denial as Hotaru had.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Akira," Hotaru muttered, somewhat angrily, as he saw the shock on Akari's face. "I told him you didn't have a cure. He wouldn't go to you if I wouldn't."

"Hotaru, I might be able to do something. You two have been gone for three years; I've hardly stopped working on a cure. It's not finalized…we've only used it twice. But I very well may be able to treat you. Go next door please; I think this room is actually in use at the moment."

Hotaru's eyes were full of shock and a sense of wonder; he had not dared hope for this much. But Akira…

Akira looked pleased, but there was an underlying tone to his expression that Hotaru couldn't quite place.

"Are you—?"

"We'll be there in a minute, Hotaru. I want to talk to Akira about something."

The fire-wielder looked confused, but obeyed.

---

"Akira, I can't do anything…your injuries are beyond what my powers can handle. I've told you that…and you're on every painkiller you have without endangering your life. I don't know what you expect me to do…"

Akira's fists clenched in his lap as he listened to Akari speak. He _knew_ that. He was here because being here would save Hotaru from his own stupidity.

And yet…somehow, having Hotaru's problem solved so instantly seemed like a bit of a slap in the face when Akira's was still so beyond help. He was certainly pleased that Akari could save the other man, but…

"I'm sorry," Akari said softly. "I know how much pain you must be in, and I'm sorry I can't do more. What's the worst of it?"

"My left leg. It's…destroyed. I don't think it ever healed right after my fight with Tokito."

Akari nodded; she remembered treating that. That leg had had some of the worst muscle damage she had ever seen and a completely shattered bone that had pierced and torn the muscle still further. She remembered how horrified she was when she had begun treating all of the injuries that riddled Akira's body, but that had been the worst—and it still was.

"I'm not sure if it's possible to do this right, but…I think it might be possible to improve a little bit. You're right; the bone never healed correctly because of how long it took for me to get to it…I think if it were rebroken and set right…but that could easily make it worse. I'm not even sure I could trust myself to do it."

She regretted it almost the moment she'd said it; the look on Akira's face was the mixture of foolish hope and reckless determination that she had known him for since she'd met him.

"And this would really make it heal better? Make the pain less intense?"

Akari bit her lip.

"If I'm right, yes. If I'm wrong…Akira, you could be crippled for life…forget I said anything. I can't do it, and I'm not at all sure it would even help. Your leg…honestly, I'm already shocked you can even put weight on it. I don't know if it _can_ be repaired."

"You said—"

"I was thinking out loud!" Akari half yelled. "What if I'm wrong, huh? What if I ended up crippling you? How would I ever forgive myself for that? Rebreaking that bone…it _splintered_, Akira. There's no telling what aggravating it would do to you."

Akira scowled, biting his tongue to stop himself from yelling back at her.

"Go see to Hotaru," he finally said, voice clipped and almost angry. "Him, you can save."

Akari hesitated before leaving the room slowly, looking back sadly at the broken warrior.

---

"Ow," Hotaru said blankly, watching the serum vanish slowly into his vein.

"There," Akari stated. "Assuming it works the way it has in the past—you're only half Mibu, so things could vary a little—you should start feeling better in a few days, though it could take weeks for the disease to completely clear your system. Come back in about three days to check in. I will warn you, you'll feel sick for a while. It's powerful stuff."

Hotaru seemed to be trying to remember something.

"What about Akira?"

"I've got him on a whole mess of painkillers," Akari replied, knowing that Akira would not want Hotaru to know how bad he really was. "He just needs to rest for a while; he's been pushing himself too hard."

"Oh."

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"Hey, Akari?"

"Hm?"

"Why are you lying to me?"

Akari looked up, startled, to meet Hotaru's sharp golden eyes. She sighed and shook her head.

"I should have known I couldn't hide from you. Hotaru…Akira doesn't want you to know anything I haven't told you. Ask him, not me."

"Okay." Hotaru stood and began to walk toward the door.

"Not now!" Akari got to her feet and grabbed Hotaru's shoulder. "Leave him alone for a minute. He'll come to us when he's ready. You know as well as I do that he hardly wants to be comforted."

Hotaru nodded. He knew that. He had always known that. But just now…he had forgotten. Just an hour or so ago, he had held Akira like he had never held anyone, and it was hard to see that as anything but comfort.

So he waited, waited for over half an hour before Akira entered the room, looking tired and utterly broken.

"Akira, do you mind walking him home? I'm not sure when the vaccine will kick in, and it'll make him pretty sick for a while. Yuan's family can take care—"

"No," Hotaru interrupted. "They can't know. They'll worry."

Akari sighed.

_He's just like Akira…so damned stubborn._

"Well, I'm going to assume you don't want to stay _here_."

"No."

"Then where the hell _do_ you plan on staying?!" the shaman cried in frustration.

Hotaru was silent for a minute or so; Akari could almost hear the gears clicking in his underused brain.

Akira let out an annoyed sound somewhere between a sigh and an irritated growl.

"He can stay with me for a while."

Hotaru's eyes lit up as though a light bulb had gone off in his head. The younger man sighed again. Hotaru followed him out of the building. Akari watched them go, looking confused.

_What happened between those two?_

---

Hotaru curled into a ball on the futon, a sheen of sweat coating his body, his breath rattling slightly as it caught in his throat. He was, indeed, quite sick.

Akira put another cool cloth on Hotaru's burning forehead, brushing his sweaty blond hair out of his face. He lingered for a moment, holding his cool hand to Hotaru's fevered skin.

"Akira…" Hotaru groaned. "Ice…please…"

The other man froze the water in the cloth on Hotaru's head, funneling energy into it to stop Hotaru's heat from melting it. The fire-caster sighed with relief, pressing his wrists to the icy material. Akira could feel the heat of his body from inches away.

It was almost painful to touch Hotaru, but Akira nonetheless held the back of his hand to Hotaru's throat, freezing hand cooling the heated blood. The older man sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching into a half-smile.

"Thank you," he whispered, catching Akira's hand in his own. The younger samurai almost smiled in spite of himself.

"You'll feel better soon," he said, assuring himself as much as Hotaru.

"Just stay here, okay?" The request was barely more than a breath.

"I'm not going anywhere. Relax. You'll recover faster."

"Mmm." Hotaru closed his eyes and drifted off. Akira continued to stroke his hair, concern on his face. Hotaru certainly did not seem to be improving. He'd had a coughing fit a few hours ago, and this fever was not reassuring.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered again, laying beside Hotaru and curving his body to the fire-caster's as he too fell asleep.

---

"Akira?" Hotaru asked, surprise coloring his raspy voice.

Akira's eyelids twitched, but of course they did not open; it was one of the few reflexes left over from before he had blinded himself. He suddenly became very aware of his position: curled beside Hotaru, one arm draped over the fire-caster's slim waist, face buried in soft golden hair. He sat up quickly, his face feeling nearly as hot as Hotaru's fevered skin, and winced as his old scars stretched.

"Sorry," Hotaru said softly. "I was just surprised. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's fine," Akira said, slipping out from under the blankets. "How are you?"

"A little better, I think. I don't feel quite as hot as yesterday."

Akira couldn't help smiling, relieved that Hotaru seemed to finally be improving; with any luck, his fever would break within the next few days.

"Akira…did I do something wrong?"

"What?"

"Why are you running away from me?"

Akira hesitated.

"I'm not. You're imagining things."

"You're a bad liar too, Akira," Hotaru said softly.

_He knows me way too well_.

"Hotaru, I am sheltering you in my home, taking care of you, and I just woke up _in bed_ with you. I am hardly running away."

Hotaru's eyes filled with confusion; he knew all of those things, but he couldn't shake the feeling of Akira's uneasiness around him. The younger man seemed just as confused as Hotaru was, and more unnerved.

Akira sighed; he didn't like lying to Hotaru. But he refused to tell him the answer; honestly, he didn't quite know it himself.

He had loved once in his life. He knew what love was, and whatever he felt for Hotaru was not it. But it was threatening to surface, whatever it was, and Akira didn't want it to. His life was difficult enough without Hotaru in it any more than necessary.

"You're thinking about Kyo."

Akira twitched.

"Did you love him? Do you still?"

The ice-caster did not speak for several minutes, and Hotaru began to think he would get no answer, when finally,

"Kyo is in my past. He has Yuya-san now."

"So you did—"

"Shut _up_, Hotaru!" Akira yelled, immediately ashamed as Hotaru flinched at the anger in his voice. "Sorry," he said bitterly, "but please, allow me to leave those wounds in my past, where they belong. Yes, I loved Kyo. Happy?"

"Not really," Hotaru whispered.

Akira barely heard him.

They remained in the same positions in silence for over an hour before Hotaru broke it with a cough. And another, and another until he could barely draw a single breath. Akira sat beside him, completely helpless to do anything for his friend as Hotaru's thin frame heaved and shook violently. Blood spattered his hands, and Akira was shocked at how bad his condition was. This "cure" seemed to be killing him.

Finally, the fit passed and Hotaru collapsed on his side, breathing heavily as he tried to fill his deprived lungs. His beautiful golden eyes rolled, and his breath caught every time he took a breath. Akira brushed his hair out of his face, feeling the scorching heat that raced through Hotaru's body. He had been wrong; Hotaru was _worse_ than yesterday.

"I…guess I was…wrong," the fire-caster gasped.

"Shh. You'll be okay," Akira said softly. "Don't try to talk." He laid another frozen cloth on Hotaru's forehead and two more on his wrists.

Hotaru was silent but for his labored breathing, but he never took his pain-clouded eyes from Akira's features, softened by concern and so different from the mask with which he always greeted the outside world. In that moment, those features were beautiful. _Akira_ was beautiful.

Honestly, Akira had always been that way; the effortless grace with which he moved, the deceptively slim form that held incredible power, the way he fought as could no one else Hotaru had ever seen.

Of course, most of that was gone now; Akira's grace was marred by the vicious pain that accompanied every step, and he could no longer fight. But somehow, to Hotaru, he was still impossibly, achingly beautiful.

Hotaru caught Akira's hand as he had the previous day, squeezing as pain wracked his body. Akira's face could not hide how worried he was for Hotaru, though he attempted to look strong for his friend.

"It's going to be okay," Akira whispered, brushing Hotaru's hair with the long fingers of his right hand.

"Hey, Akira." Hotaru's voice sounded nearly delirious.

"Don't talk, Hotaru…you'll just start another fit."

"I figured out why I didn't see a girl in Kubira's illusion."

"What?"

"I wasn't thinking about a girl…"

Akira withdrew for a moment, confused.

"Hotaru…?"

But the half-Mibu had already slipped into unconsciousness, his body desperate to escape the pain.

As Hotaru slept, Akira wondered.

What _was_ he feeling for Hotaru?

**End Chapter**

Duuuude, that chapter was _long_. It was like eight pages on Word (even more in my notebook). Thanks to my two reviewers from last time! I hope you liked this chapter too!


	3. Chapter 3

It depresses me that I get more readers for my _Dragon Drive_ fics than my SDK ones…

On a lighter note, my Hotaru cosplay is finished! Well, I still have to deal with the issue of props…but I'm _mostly_ done. The actual costume is done. I have pics up on Deviantart; check it out!

Anyway, on to Chapter 3, which I'm sure you care about far more than my ranting.

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Samurai Deeper Kyo or any characters therein, including the amazing bishieness that is Hotaru and Akira.

**Warning: **It is, as it has always been, shounen-ai. It's not really _yaoi_ yet. It might be going there…no way to know yet.

**Chapter 3**

Hotaru slept through the rest of the day and that night. Akira slept for only about three hours, and on the floor, uncomfortable being too close to the sleeping fire-caster. His confusion persisted; he didn't know his own mind anymore.

Two days—more like one, really—of living in proximity to Hotaru had shown Akira a side of the flame-caster that he had never seen before. Of course, Hotaru was violently sick and possibly delirious, but how did that explain what _Akira_ was feeling?

And how did it explain that kiss…?

Akira _heard_ Hotaru's eyelids flutter open, and the blind man sat up quickly, turning to face him.

"What are you doing on the floor?" Hotaru's voice was a rough, barely-audible whisper.

"I didn't want to disturb you," Akira lied.

Hotaru closed his eyes again and wondered why Akira wouldn't tell him the truth. But then, Akira had never been good at expressing himself. Not to mention that he favored solitude—excluding the presence of Kyo—nearly as much as Hotaru once had. He lived alone, thought alone, and before his fight with Tokito had crippled him, he had _fought_ alone, refusing help no matter the consequences. No matter how many times his stubbornness nearly got him killed. He might be more mature now, but some things never changed.

"How are you feeling?" Akira inquired.

"I think…better than yesterday," Hotaru said hesitantly. "But then, I thought that yesterday, too."

Akira touched Hotaru's forehead with the back of his hand. It didn't seem nearly as hot as the previous day, though still much warmer than any normal human.

"Just don't push yourself," Akira cautioned, remembering with a slight shudder the blood on Hotaru's hands.

They were quiet for a while, neither feeling the need to speak. This was one of the few things about Hotaru (sober, anyway; he was an endlessly amusing drunk) that had not irritated Akira during Hotaru's years in the Shiseiten. He wasn't nearly as loud or chatty as Bon or Akari, and he and Akira had often communicated through body language alone or not at all. They simply felt no compulsion to. Akira didn't like people who talked too much.

The two of them had so rarely agreed that Akira had failed to notice how close they became, and how well he understood the fire-caster.

Hotaru was hesitantly able to drink some water (not without remarking on how much he hated the element; Akira took it as a good sign), though he was still intensely wary of food. He trusted Akira with his life—he'd had to ever since the kid had officially joined the (then three) Emperors—but he couldn't trust his own stomach to keep anything down.

"Akari said to check in tomorrow," Akira remarked. "Do you think you'll be able to?"

Hotaru shrugged.

"I guess I won't know 'til tomorrow…everything seems to change by the day."

Akira nodded. _Indeed it does…_

"Akira…are _you_ okay? Akari lied to me."

"As I asked her to," Akira replied sharply. "My condition is not something I want the world to know."

"…sorry."

"Never mind…it's fine, you didn't do anything wrong. I shouldn't be angry with you…"

"But you are," Hotaru said softly.

"Yes," Akira confessed, the tortured word filled with more anger at himself than Hotaru.

"Why?"

Akira sighed, hating himself.

"Because I cannot be healed," he said shortly. "Don't get me wrong; I'm glad you can escape your disease…but there is nothing more that Akari can do for me. Even before you spoke to her of your illness, I was taking every painkiller I could without endangering my life. I cannot escape my pain, no matter what I do…I could not even walk if not for these drugs and my own refusal to fall…and that is beginning to fail. Every day, every hour, every _minute_ is filled with this agony…it's tearing me apart," he concluded in a whisper.

"You lied to me."

"To save your life!" Akira cried, ire rising. "You would have refused to go to Akari, and your own thick-headedness would have killed you! Are you saying you would have preferred to die like Hishigi rather than be lied to _once_?!"

Hotaru's fists clenched as he remembered Hishigi's death again. Sometimes he hated Akira for being right, especially when it made him feel stupid or selfish.

Akira shook his head.

"Forgive me. I'm being insensitive. I shouldn't put stress on you…I shouldn't yell…"

Hotaru looked at the younger man, slightly ashamed of himself. After all, Akira was right; Hotaru, miserable though he currently was, would heal. Akira would not. The blind warrior was truly broken…body far beyond repair, and spirit and resolve cracking.

"Please don't apologize to me, Akira…you have every right to your anger. I can't even imagine your pain…_I'm_ sorry."

Akira didn't answer, but returned to sit on the edge of the futon. Hotaru did not seem overheated, so he didn't bother with ice.

Hesitantly, feeling awkward now that Hotaru was aware of his surroundings, Akira brushed a couple of stray hairs back into place, feeling the softness of Hotaru's hair, the smooth skin of his face. Taking in everything he used to know about him, through the senses he had left.

He had noticed three years ago that the braid had gone, but it seemed that Hotaru had grown his hair out again, and that familiar plait tickled his fingers. Akira sighed. It was good to have _some_ kind of familiarity—even if it was a friend he hadn't seen in years, and who had changed so much in those years.

Most familiar were his scars—the one thing about a person that never changed.

Hotaru's scars were not quite as numerous as Akira's, but many were as severe. The deep gashes in his chest from Kyo's Suzaku; the thin, barely visible lines on his face, mementos of Tenrou's ferocity that had allowed him to use _chikewai_ against the crimson-eyed man; wounds from his fights with Shinrei and Anthony; worse ones from Yuan; and the vicious marks that Fubuki had left when the Taishiro had mercilessly overwhelmed the brothers.

And of course, every scar that told of his years of travel with Kyo, Akira and the others; stabs and slashes that were every bit as familiar to Akira as to Hotaru himself. He had seen those scars from the moment they were made until the day he had ruined his own eyes.

Hotaru didn't know how to react to Akira's closeness, to the strange but not unpleasant feeling of those hands on his skin. He reached out to touch Akira's check just as the blind man's trailing fingers returned to Hotaru's.

This embrace, this kiss was longer, and softer; each man fully aware of the other's pain, they were as gentle as their natures allowed. Akira twined his fingers into Hotaru's silken hair, holding the flame-caster to himself just as Hotaru pulled him close and nipped playfully at Akira's collarbone, licking a stripe back up his neck to return to his mouth. Akira shivered, at the same time anxious and exhilarated by the feeling of Hotaru's hot breath on his throat.

The ice-wielder pressed back insistently, biting softly at Hotaru's lip as the other parted his lips and ventured to explore his mouth.

Hotaru, overcome by the blood rushing to his brain, forgot for a moment to be gentle. He pulled Akira roughly against himself, pressing a little too hard on his tormented back.

Akira screamed, a pain-mad sound more animal than human. Hotaru just looked at him, helpless, furious with himself and horrified by what he had done in his carelessness. Akira curled into a ball, wrapped around his agony, trembling. The destroyed muscles throbbed, and Akira was glad he could no longer cry. He couldn't guarantee that he could have held back tears.

"Akira…oh, Akira, I'm so sorry…" Hotaru whispered. "I didn't mean to…"

The younger man shuddered, his breathing fast and catching every time he inhaled. Hotaru couldn't begin to imagine how much pain he had to be in. He had seen Akira take a sword in the gut without screaming like that.

They stayed like that for the better part of an hour, Hotaru not daring to touch Akira for fear of hurting him again.

Finally, Akira moved, tortured legs unfolding slowly as he forced himself to sit up and prop himself against the wall, still breathing heavily.

"So now you know," he said bitterly.

"Akira…"

"It wasn't all you. It happens sometimes…for no reason at all…sometimes when I'm carrying something too heavy or trying to train… I'm about ready to give that up. All it does is hurt…Kyo would kill me without even meaning to if we fought…"

Hotaru's eyes were sad, filled with a desperate desire to help his old friend that he could not act upon. Akira was lost in the dark he had hidden himself in; now Hotaru knew why he had not seen Akira for two weeks after returning to Mibu lands.

"Why did you come here?" he asked hesitantly. "I wouldn't have thought you'd go to the Mibu, of all places."

"Akari is here. The pain was…too much," Akira breathed. "And I needed to take Tokito home. Then…I just stayed. I didn't have anywhere else to go."

One sentence stuck in Hotaru's mind.

"You were travelling with Tokito?"

Akira let out a breath that almost sounded like laughter.

"Stupid kid followed me for three whole years, practically _begging _me to fight her. I lied to her, over and over…said she wasn't strong enough to fight me. And that when I could barely walk. She stalked off the moment we returned…haven't seen her since."

"She's been with us," Hotaru said. "She's as confused as I was about having a family, but I think she's getting used to it. Anna can be real nice…sometimes."

Akira smiled a little.

"Good. She needs it."

Hotaru felt strange as he listened to Akira speak of Tokito, and he bit his lip. Wait…was he _jealous?_

It was true that often during his travels he had missed his old companions—_all _of them, even Akari and (though he would _never_ admit it) Shinrei—so of course, once in a while his thoughts would alight on the blind man. He would wonder where Akira was, what he was up to…often while sick as a dog on the ship, or recovering from being kicked by an extremely angry (and _huge_) camel. Of course, that time he was missing Akari, too.

All right, yes, he was a bit jealous of Tokito. He wished a little that he could have spent a while with Akira, or perhaps taken Akira with him on his own travels. After all, as Hotaru had learned, there was nothing like riding a camel (or an elephant) to strengthen your legs. India was fun. So was Egypt. And China.

"So what did you do for three years, Hotaru?"

"Well, first I went to China," Hotaru said absently. "It was pretty cool there; I hung out with pandas a lot. It wasn't bad at all, except that no one spoke Japanese."

Akira put one hand to his face and almost laughed.

"Hotaru…people speak _Chinese_ in China."

"Oh…well, I went to India after that. I almost got trampled by an elephant. I didn't even know those were _real_. They're a lot bigger in real life." Akira let out a small chuckle at that. He was a little jealous; Hotaru had certainly been having adventures.

"I even got to ride one; after a while, I found the one person in India who speaks a little Japanese, and he helped me rent an elephant to travel with. Her name was Vana. It means 'wind'. I was sad when I had to give her back; I was running out of money…"

Akira smiled, imagining Hotaru astride one of the great beasts.

"Where did you get more?"

"Well it turned out that the pirates who gave me a lift to China were at a port in India when I went looking for a ride to Egypt. They took me on board again, but I _worked_ for my living…and I couldn't use my fire because, you know, wooden boat…except that one time another crew chased us because they wanted our ship. That was fun. Then we took their stuff, 'cause I didn't burn _everything_, and I got a big cut of it 'cause I burned up the ship and all. So they dropped me in Egypt and said they'd be back next year, and not to get killed because they were starting to like me."

Akira's smile was a little sad; he wished he could have experienced the things Hotaru talked about. He had stuck to deserts and other such places during his travels, and Hotaru's more colorful adventures were unbelievably enticing.

"How was Egypt, then?" he inquired, hungry for more stories to imagine and see in his mind's eye.

Hotaru smiled, remembering.

"Egypt was the best," he said as his mind travelled back to the beautiful land. "Everything shines in the sun, and the _heat_…it's amazing, Akira, I wish you could have been there. And I had enough money to buy a camel instead of renting. He sort of hated me at first though…I had to get _lots_ of lessons, so I learned some Arabic. I know how to say 'camel', 'stop', and 'you're stupid'. '_Gamal_', '_kef_', and '_anta ghabi_'. I forgot most of the other stuff…I heard those the most.

"Anyway, once my camel stopped trying to kill me, I travelled around a lot. Saw the pyramids, and some cool temples and stuff. I met a few neat people who helped me get around the place; I had no idea where anything was. The big river there flows north; it's weird. Yeah…what was I saying? Hmm…oh right. They helped me out when my stupid camel kicked me and broke my knee. That hurt. But still, Egypt was the best…it was so cool."

Akira heard Hotaru's heart quicken as he spoke of Egypt; he had truly loved the place, more than most he'd visited or lived in.

"But I was starting to miss everyone back here—and I didn't know when the crew would be back next—so I got back on the ship when I came back into port. They did some trading, and then the lot of us went back to the ship, got roaring drunk—I'm told I won an arm-wrestling tournament—and shoved off in the morning with the worst hangover I've had in seven years." Hotaru winced at the memory. Akira would have rolled his eyes if he could.

"Clearly, you didn't learn your lesson drinking with Kyo."

"Oh, I didn't drink _nearly_ that much. These guys are serious, sure, but nothing compared to _me_, let alone Kyo or Yukimura. Still…yeah, my head hurt for a while. "

Akira's mouth quirked up in a half-smile.

"Of course, it takes forever to get from Egypt to Japan…I never realized how _far_ these places are. And we ran into a huge storm on the way, of course. Ugh…I got way sick. I _hate_ water. That was the one time I wished Shinrei was there, so he could make the stupid boat stop rocking around. Anyway, it took almost five months to get home, what with rough seas and having to stop to restock and exercise my camel so he'd stop destroying the cabin we put him in."

"You brought him with you?" Akira asked incredulously.

"Why wouldn't I?"

Akira sighed. Hotaru logic. He doubted there was a person in the world—besides maybe Yuan—who understood it.

"So yeah…I came home, said 'bye to the guys, and they gave me a parrot. She's green. They told me they're back every year and to look for them if I ever feel like sailing again. I might…there's too much water though."

"It's called the _ocean_, Hotaru," Akira laughed.

Hotaru looked bemused, but he was happy. He'd made Akira laugh again—and after the horror he had just endured, he needed to laugh.

"You seem better," Akira remarked. Hotaru nodded, neglecting to mention the minor fit he'd had overnight. It hadn't been serious, and he didn't think it worth telling Akira. He had enough to worry about already.

"I think I can go to Akari tomorrow."

"Good…she should know everything. _I_ know about last night, by the way. Please don't lie to me."

Hotaru looked at his feet, ashamed. When would he learn, he wondered, that lying to Akira was a terrible idea as well as completely pointless?

"You should probably try to eat something," Akira suggested.

"Shouldn't _you_?"

Akira realized suddenly that he had not eaten since bringing Hotaru back to his apartment. His stomach growled, and he sightlessly glared at it.

"Yes, I suppose I should."

Hotaru noticed how tired Akira sounded; clearly, his fits drained him just as did the worst of Hotaru's own. The fire-caster's expression saddened again as he noted Akira's pronounced limp.

"Let me help."

"I'm fine, Hotaru. Rest."

They ate in silence, Hotaru hesitating only a moment before taking the food.

_I'm not alone anymore. And I trust Akira_.

---

"Well, _you_ look terrible," Akari observed, looking at Hotaru.

He supposed he did. He had dark circles under his golden eyes, and he was exhausted. But he hadn't had a fit last night, so he felt more optimistic than he had the previous day.

"Thanks, Akari," he muttered.

The shaman laughed.

"All right, off with the shirt. The disease manifests at least eighty percent in the lungs; I need to check those out."

"Kay," Hotaru agreed, shedding his upper clothing.

"Well, you're still a skinny little shrimp," Akari remarked. Hotaru rolled his eyes, glaring a little.

Akari's examination took only about ten minutes. She was a little shocked, not only by the extreme backlash that the treatment had caused, but by how quickly Hotaru seemed to be bouncing back from it. She wondered if it had anything to do with his half-Mibu blood. His human mother's blood had been badly affected by the system-shocking vaccine, but the fact that he was only half Mibu seemed to have reduced the severity of the disease—or at least heightened his ability to fight it.

"I'm surprised; you seem much better. It's still going to take a while before you fully recover, but I doubt you'll have any more major attacks. If you start feeling worse again, come see me, but I think you'll be okay."

Akira bit his lip, debating whether to bring up the issue of his leg again. He wasn't sure if Akari would have even thought about it, let alone changed her mind, since their last conversation. He decided to try her anyway.

"Akari—?"

"You want to talk again? All right, come with me."

"Hotaru knows. We can talk here."

Akari's eyebrows rose in surprise. The shaman honestly hadn't expected Akira, so secretive about his pain, to tell Hotaru so soon. She guessed he trusted the fire-caster more than she'd thought.

"Okay then. I'm assuming you're going to ask me about resetting your leg. I _told_ you, Akira, it's a massive gamble. I'd be terrified even to try. It's not difficult with a clean break, but both of the bones in your lower leg _shattered_. And it's been three years of you walking on it and probably exacerbating the injury. It _might_ be possible. But you need to be fully aware of what your consequences might be."

Akira's hands clenched into fists, trembling slightly.

"Akari, I don't think you understand," he said quietly. "Even now, without an ounce of weight on this leg, the pain is unbelievable. Stabbing, tearing…I don't think you can begin to imagine it. If there is anything—_anything _—I can do to make it stop, or even be just a bit more bearable, I _have_ to take that chance. Akari…please."

The pink-haired shaman bit her lip. Akira was right; it was his choice. But the risk…at the same time, she didn't want to be responsible, and knew she could never entrust Akira to another. She was the most skilled, and had the best judgment. No, she had to do it herself.

Finally, she spoke.

"You're right, Akira," she said. "I was being selfish…I didn't want the responsibility if I made you worse. It could happen…you might never walk again…but if you really insist…I'll do it myself. I won't deny you. But don't forget the secret!" Akari winked. "Hotaru, you still owe me one."

As Hotaru racked his brain for a secret Akari didn't know yet, a tiny smile showed on Akira's face.

_Akari…thank you_, he thought, for the first time in his life. _But I'm still going to kill you someday for extorting secrets._

"I can't do it today, though. Come back in two days, with Hotaru. I'd like to see if he improves more that quickly, and I'll be ready to take you on, too. Come here, Hotaru. Secret._ Now_."

Hotaru hung his head, biting his lip. He didn't know if his secret was good enough for Akari's healing.

"Akira. Out," Akari ordered. "You hear too much."

Akira grumbled and stalked out of the room, shutting the door a bit harder than necessary.

Akari advanced on Hotaru, positioning her right ear beside his mouth.

"All right, 'Taru-chan, spill the beans," she said sweetly.

Hotaru's eye twitched a little. _'Taru-chan?_

"Um…I'm not sure if it's good enough," he mumbled. "But…um…I kissed Akira," he finished, so softly that only Akira himself could have heard.

"It doesn't count if I don't hear it, genius," Akari said, peeved.

"I kissed Akira," Hotaru repeated a little louder.

Akari's eyes widened and her jaw dropped a little.

So _that_ was what was going on.

"Not good enough?!" Akari cackled. "That's brilliant! Your debt is fully repaid! I might even give you a freebie for that one!"

In the hallway, Akira wondered what Hotaru had said to make Akari so happy…

**End Chapter**

Ahaha, 3 Akari. She is so fun to write :P

I know you're all wondering what Akira's secret is, and whether the next chapter will have some more yaoi-ness, so I shall attempt to update as soon as is humanly possible.


	4. Chapter 4

I have returned! I'm not dead! And my warmup in British Literature was free-writing the day I wrote this, so I decided write fanfiction, for bishies are more fun than school.

**Disclaimer:** However much I wish that Hotaru and Akira were _mine_, they are not

**Warning:** I never have a clue where my fics are going. It's shounen-ai, of course, but I don't know how yaoi-ish it'll get. Like ever.

**Chapter 4**

"Why didn't you tell me about your leg?"

Akira sighed.

"You honestly hadn't noticed how badly I limp?"

Hotaru glared, not appreciating the slight to his intelligence. Sure, he was aware that his head was rather empty, but he still didn't like being called stupid.

"I meant about Akari fixing it."

"Because, quite simply, she refused to the first time I asked. There was no point in informing you of a useless hope. Ask all you want, now."

Hotaru said nothing, slightly mad at Akira, but not willing to speak and start a fight; nor did he have any questions he wanted to ask.

"You're angry."

The flame-caster let out an irritated sigh.

"I can't _hide_ anything from you," he said. "With anyone else, I can hide anger, I can hide fear, and pain, and I can lie. You might be blind, Akira…but you see right through me like no one else can. And sometimes…I can't help but hate you for it."

Akira hesitated. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to have someone know his every emotion, someone who knew every time he lied. He realized he would hate it, too.

"Hotaru…"

"I know you can't help it. It's just…the one thing about you I can't stand."

Akira almost laughed.

"I seem to remember both of our lists being much longer three years ago."

An amused smile appeared on Hotaru's face. Funny, he seemed to remember that, too. Just about _everything_ about Akira had driven him crazy during the old Shiseiten years, and not much had changed when they met up four years later. But while they fought side by side for the first time in years, something had changed. Suddenly, he saw Akira as a warrior; one without fear, filled with terrifying ambition that matched or even exceeded Hotaru's own.

That was the first time he had thought of Akira as beautiful.

Okay, that was a lie. Akira had always had some strange beauty about him. Hotaru had simply refused to let himself think that way about a child. Akira had been only ten when Hotaru had gone to seek Kyo's strength and found something even rarer; the three people in the world—four once they found Akari—who could make him laugh.

Even then, Akira had been fascinating, if infuriating. Though young, he was powerful, and yet still graceful. His twin swords flowed like water beneath a frozen river as his teal eyes shone with the pride that came with protecting Kyo's back.

Hotaru missed those eyes.

Another reason to envy Tokito, he supposed. The Taishirou had been the first and only person in four whole years that Akira had truly _seen_ with those beautiful blue-green eyes—and the only one to see them.

Akira recalled Hotaru as well. The Hotaru of the Shiseiten years—the years Akira had once been so desperate to revive—was deadly, ruthless and terrifying. Mercy was a foreign word to a man who had fought tooth and nail since early childhood to survive his own father's deadliest assassins. Only by isolating himself from the world, giving himself nothing to lose, could he live without fear. He found his own food and water, mended his own clothing, and for months after Akari had joined them, he had continued to insist on bandaging and treating his own wounds—until a vicious infection from a rusty sword nearly killed him.

At the time, Akira had scoffed and said it served him right; after all, it wouldn't have been nearly as severe had Akari simply healed him when Hotaru had first received the wound.

Now, he could admit to himself how worried he had been for the elder Shiseiten. The snaking red lines that radiated out from the angry gash in Hotaru's side, evidence of deadly blood poisoning, had scared Akira to the point that he could no longer even look at him. The horrible pain that showed on Hotaru's face finally forced him to accept Akari's help—and give up his first secret.

Akira tried once again to picture Hotaru in battle. The roaring inferno of his flames, the strange, floating way he moved; these were ingrained deeply in his mind. These he could still "see" with his heart's eyes.

Hotaru's face was more difficult—all but those molten gold eagle's eyes. Akira remembered his sharply angled features, accented by his _chikewai_, and the piercings in his ears, and the flying braid that whipped about during the fighting. He remembered each element of Hotaru's appearance, but couldn't quite piece them all together.

"Yeah…I definitely liked you a lot less back then," Hotaru said absently.

Akira really wished he could roll his eyes. It was the perfect response to pretty much everything Hotaru did or said.

"Yes, I believe I could say the same about you."

"Hey, Akira?"

"Hm?"

"What did you and Tokito do for three years?"

Akira's eyebrows contracted. Why did Hotaru want to know that?

"We travelled around…mostly in desert areas, I was trying to strengthen my legs. I'm not entirely sure where she was when you and I split in China. Honestly, I have not a _clue_ how she found me…

"So we got around, mostly stealing food from caravans when we really needed to. And of course I had to shoot down her challenges ever three hours or so. It wasn't just challenges either…she still has the _hormones_ of a teenage girl." Akira put a hand to his face, recalling the annoyance of Tokito's incessant _talking_. She just never shut up; it was worse than even Bontenmaru's bragging.

Hotaru bit his tongue, looking at the floor.

Okay. He was jealous.

"Hotaru? Are you all right?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm 'kay. Tired."

Akira nodded; he could imagine. He was tired, too. He was almost always tired.

"I suggest sleep. It tends to help a little."

"Don't sleep on the floor again. I feel like I'm kicking you out."

The blind man hesitated. He still didn't know what he was starting to feel for Hotaru, and sharing a bed tended to compound his confusion; it certainly had in that sleazy inn with Tokito, and the other night with Hotaru.

"Ah…fine. Go to sleep. I'm not tired yet, and you need to rest more than I do. Go."

Hotaru, suddenly far too tired to argue, retreated to the other room and collapsed on the futon, asleep within three minutes.

A small smile played across Akira's face. Hotaru's mindlessness was enviable indeed…even when Akira was completely exhausted, it usually took him at least a half hour to drift off.

It wasn't long before he went to join the other man. His racing thoughts were annoying, confusing, and getting him nowhere.

Akira curled up on the edge of the bed, not touching Hotaru. His mind was just starting to doze off when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Hotaru, touch me again and I swear I'll freeze your hand," he mumbled. "I'm not in the mood."

Hotaru retreated, frowning slightly, before sleep claimed him again.

---

Despite Akira's warning, the day found him nestled against Hotaru's chest and Hotaru's arm around his waist.

_Dammit_.

Hotaru yelped and jerked away as a thin shell of ice coated his arm. He glared at Akira as it cracked and fell away.

"What was that for?"

"I told you not to touch me."

"That hurt. And I didn't."

Akira raised his eyebrows.

"Oh really."

"I can't control what I do in my sleep…neither can you," Hotaru said bemusedly, failing to understand Akira's irritation.

Akira bit his tongue, not wanting to start an argument with Hotaru. It never ended well—and never even got him anywhere. He sat up slowly to minimize the stress on his old wounds and perched on the edge of the bed, his back to Hotaru.

Hotaru's brow furrowed. Akira had never been easy to understand—for _anyone_, let alone the clueless fire-caster—but lately, he was impossible. His words cryptic, his moods shifting inexplicably like the wind, Akira had become more of a mystery than ever before.

The older Shiseiten didn't like it. He didn't get it.

"Akira—"

"Stop, Hotaru. I'm…I don't know my mind right now. I need to think about all of this."

"Are you scared? About tomorrow?"

"Absolutely not," Akira replied swiftly, though he failed to completely hide the tremor in his voice.

Hotaru didn't push him. Akira had never reacted well when forced into anything, especially talking about his fears. His way of coping had always been to deny them altogether. It still was.

Theirs seemed a relationship based almost entirely around _waiting_, punctuated with the occasional, brief conversation. It was common for the two of them to go hours without speaking or even moving.

Hotaru coughed once, spitting a clot of blood into his hand. Akira glanced over.

"It's fine," Hotaru said. Akira nodded, sensing how Hotaru's body was trying to rid itself of the last dregs of the disease.

Akira rose to sit beside the window, looking out blankly at the Mibu city. Hotaru watched him, incapable of truly understanding the depth of Akira's pain, but full of worry and sadness for his friend.

The rest of the day passed almost entirely in silence.

**End Chapter**

Okay, I know that chapter was way short, but last chapter was like ten pages! Please forgive meeeee *sad apologetic puppy eyes* The next one is longer. Promise. It's also extremely strange and I'm not entirely sure you'll like it…but it will get better. I think…


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